Just Like a Pill
by Cut Throat Sweetheart
Summary: Everybody knows that House's Vicodin is like a lifeline to him. So when an unexpected call brings together an unlikely pair of damaged doctors, who will be the one person he's willing to give a little up for? Hameron. My first story, all reviews welcome


_Hey guys. This is written in the perspective of both characters, so when you see a little xox, it means the voice is switching. This is again my first story, so I'll accept any review I can get. And of course, I do not own House MD or any of its characters._

Blindly I drove through the foggy night. Through the haze I saw lights from the 24 hour convenience stores and nightclubs that I'd never gone to and honestly hoped I never would. I heard people screaming at nothing in particular and dogs barking and it was almost as loud as if it were the middle of the day. I rubbed my temples and then turned up the stereo and blasted some Pink Floyd to try and drown it out.

I really had no idea what I was doing. Why I was driving up shady roads and past quaint little residential neighborhoods to a large apartment building a few blocks away from Princeton-Plainsboro. Why I parked the car, grabbed my cane, and started walking to the front entrance. Why I stumbled through the lobby and pressed the button for floor five in the elevator and stood there for ten seconds. Why I made my way through the long hallway to a door that I had knocked on before and left with a date. Why I rang the bell without even thinking twice and why at no point in this entire journey had I ever stopped to consider my actions or turn back.

Then she opened the door. Her hair disheveled, her normally sparkling eyes red, her face wet with tears, her small frame shaking beneath her, and her tiny voice almost whispering, "You came." Then I knew why.

xox

I don't think I'd ever been so weak and vulnerable in my life. Yet who would I call except the one person I never wanted to see me that way? Him. I didn't want to be THAT girl in front of him, the one who just let it all out and expected someone else to pick up the pieces. Something made me do it anyway.

When I opened the door to let him in, there was this look on his face that I just can't describe. Maybe it was confusion or regret even, or caring? No, it couldn't be that. But it was strange. It didn't matter though. He came in, walking right past me as though I had thrown out the welcome wagon.

"Trouble in paradise, Cameron?"

I was too choked up to say a word, but my mind was beginning to spark.

"Or does it just make you tear up that I'm so damn good looking? I mean, I've never made anyone cry before but—"

I don't know whether it was out of annoyance or anger or just plain fear, but I slapped him harder than I'd ever imagined I could and he stumbled backwards into the wall, swearing at his cane and lack of balance.

"I suppose you mean to tell me I deserved—"

xox

I'm Gregory House. I don't always understand why I act like such a bastard and say the things I do—only that it feels good to say them. But, she changes that. I kicked myself for saying the things I did and watching her face become even more contorted with pain from every word, and I probably earned the blow I got. I certainly wasn't going to apologize for it, but instead I guess I could make it up to her, because before I could finish my last sentence she buried her head in my chest and I just stood there. Not really comforting her, but not really saying that I wouldn't.

My leg was killing me, but she seemed to have lost control of her weight and was completely relying on me for support. I didn't know what to do next. This was Cameron. I wasn't in love with her and her puppy saving ways, but I had to at least admit to myself that I felt sorry for her. It bothered the hell out of me that I had no idea what was going on, but she sure wasn't in the position to start talking. Instead, she just led me into her bedroom and sat us both down.

A little awkward, I thought, but she didn't see it. Half of me was finally saying House; you should walk out right now before you give her the wrong message and end up hurting both of you. The other half was screaming that nobody so sweet, good, and secretly damaged deserved to suffer alone. Even if I did.

xox

Bare chest against tank top, breath against neck and breath against shoulder, heartbeat against heartbeat. I was in a less than peaceful sleep, but nevertheless I slept. I don't know what it is I needed from him, a sense of fatherhood, of friendship, or of love. Whatever it was, I got it from him; for at least an hour or two.

I awoke to the bright sun and felt cold, like something was missing. My head pounded from all the sobbing, and the five shots of tequila probably didn't help. I sat up, looking for some sign of comfort, and I found it in the fact that my clothes were intact. But what happened last night?

_He did._ I remembered. But where was he? Was it all a dream? There was no trace of him anywhere—except…? On the dresser among all my perfume and makeup there was an empty—no, almost empty—bottle of Vicodin. One little pill danced around the bottle as I shook it. Next to it lay a little note written on the back of a 7-11 receipt:

_Cameron-_

_You'll probably want this. I've got more at home. See you at 9._

_House_

I almost forgot what I had been crying about in the first place.


End file.
